A thousand and one (goners)
by crazby
Summary: Bakugou and Midoriya are kidnapped and tortured by AfO at the age of four. It gets to a point that their fragile minds can no longer take it, so the coping mechanism kicks in. The dead are on their side (not that they believe it).


_Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto or BnHA._

A/N: Wrote this drabble, will continue if it gets enough response. Basically a Villain AU with tons of trauma, disorders, pain and blood. You know, the good stuff.

This is also me coping with the non-smoking thing. Normal people eat nuts. I describe the feeling to free myself xD

I apologize for any and all grammar mistakes - this is a drabble and I'm tired af.

 **Warning: implied/referenced torture, mental trauma, underage smoking.**

~~~

 **A thousand and one (goners)**

~~~

It all started on the day he died.

The rain was falling. It was cold. The suffocating dread spread over him as he opened his eyes, the blunt rejection of life drowning his being.

How on Earth was he still alive after his body was crumbled by a goddess?

It was cold. He took in his surrounding, the cigarette in his hand, smoke rising, the pale, thin fingers. He could see the torn hoodie and washed-out black pants on him, combat boots finishing off the outfit.

"What the..." he startled at the high-pitched voice and finally recognized that the ground was so much closer. His body felt different, smaller. The dimly lit room barely allowed him to see anything, but the loose attire he's spotting, the concise design of said room barely visible.

He stared. He stared at himself. He stared at his hands - not his, too small, no scars covering them - as he noticed the ashes of the cigarette falling onto the ground. He brought it to his mouth, the smell strangely tantalizing. Before he could process him movement, it was there, the smoke filling his lungs. His body loosen up, the stiffness leaving his rigid form.

After years of mourning, of training, of preparation, the relief he felt at the long drag made his mind short-circuit. He felt his eyes close, all the questions leave his mind for the moment. The warmth spread through his being, his fingers shook, but the bliss was so worth it. His blonde strands - why were they blonde - fell onto his face, obscuring the view. He let the smoke linger in his lungs for a moment, before he opened his mouth and, slowly, he let it flow out of him.

There was no mirror. One door. No kitchen. One chair. No mattress. One sink.

He took another drag, feeling his heartbeat calm gradually. He was a shinobi - Henge was a jutsu they all grew up with, so it wasn't too unfamiliar to be different.

Death felt distant. He knew he died. He remembered dying. One moment he was there, the next pain was too much.

Then he had a smoking addiction in some blonde teen's body.

 _Wait, what?_

Yup, that's when it hit him. First, he's almost kills his ex-best friend and the world, then he becomes an obsessed jinchuriki, then...

Well, he gets Theraphy no Jutsu'ed by Minato-sensei's son, decides to fight a goddess, goes all self-sacrifice'y, saves the kiddos and Bakashi, gives his "redemption monologue", dies, goes into some void thing, sees Bakashi, gives him temporary sharingan…

You know, the average stuff.

What he didn't expect was waking up as an apparently already wide awake teen in the middle of nowhere.

At least he didn't need to get into smoking again. Wouldn't that be a hustle.

The silence was comforting. He knew that it'd be in his best interest to find a mirror, see himself, understand the shit going on, but…

He couldn't bring himself to care enough.

Another drag. Smoke filled him lungs, the disgusting, but comforting odor strangling him. He tapped the ashes onto the ground – it was too clean anyway. Exhaling slowly, watching the smoke rise, dancing, crawling up, pristine, abstract movements. It always fascinated, the way a lone cigarette could enchant his whole being, freeing himself, even if just for a moment, from the life that struggled to ruin him.

It left a bitter taste in his mouth. Strong tobacco, thick filter, the ecstatic of Marlboro Red. He eyed the coffee table, an opened pack the only thing resting on its top.

He inhaled, eyes closed, back pressed against the wall. His legs left wobbly, giving in under him, letting him slide. His gaze found the crumbled ceiling. The spider-web pattern of cracks covered it. He let his eyes linger on the sight, grasping the tiniest details.

That's when the wave hit him.

It felt like nothing else he'd ever experienced. The pain strangled him, his vision blurred, mouth agape in a silent scream. His whole body tensed as he tried to grasp _something_ , but the room was hollow, an empty pitch.

Snippets at first, stories and tales… the memories of this body burst in, mixing with his own in the uncontrollable storm. He saw someone – blond, blunt, aggressive, hurt, ripped out of his life. The saw explosions, black, dungeons, scalpels, guns, pain, blood, viscera, villains, heroes, Sensei, _Deku_ -

It hurt. He was left alone. _A villain's quirk, they said. You have no hope._

Everybody abandoned him, left him to rot. His parents threw him away. _A monster._ They were afraid of him, their own son. All he ever wanted was mother's love…

They all turned their backs on him, only for those _demons_ to take advantage of the situation. They kidnapped them, raised them, tortured them, destroyed them, twisted them. The four of them lost almost all hope. They feared, they tried, but for naught. Almost for naught.

At first, the four felt lost. Two were older, two younger. One suffered grave injuries, one inflicted them. One was a freak. One was him.

~~~

Sensei took them in after the incident. It was dark. They were both but mere toddlers of four, walking home. They lived together for a while, for his mother took the smaller boy in after his own parent died. Not that she cared much. It was all for the alimony.

They were alone when the- the- the _thing_ appeared, slimy and horrendous. It was terrifying, only two small boys against the world. Against death.

"Hehe… seems like today's my lucky day!" the monster lunched at them and, before they could process what was going on, try to stand their ground, it forced itself into the boys, suffocating them by its mere existence. "Please don't struggle. It'll only hurt _**a lot**_!"

The small boy – his brother – withered with every passing second, eyes pleading, so full of pain-

It was the most emotions the boy had expressed ever since they met, and like hell was he going to let it slide.

 _His name was Bakugou Katsuki and he'd fight for what's important to him no matter what!_

 _ **BOOM!**_

It did nothing. The monster barely moved. It was laughing, taunting without a single care.

Katsuki kept going, only-

The villain came crashing down, but it wasn't the explosion. No…

"Please, I'm begging you! Stop this!"

The pleas fell onto deaf ears, for the man behind them – _devil himself_ – chuckled, the sound freezing the boys dead in their tracks. "Afraid no can do. After all…

"You did try to haunt my prey."

The look of pure horror was the last they knew before the ear-pitching scream of agony and blood.

There would always be _blood_.

"Boys," came the voice of the devil, this time gentler, almost like he cared, "I apologize for making you see that. I wish there was another way, but he was planning to kill you, which was _unacceptable_.

"Now, kids… I'd like for you to go home. Your parents must be dead worried, right?"

They stared. The man was dangerous. He looked ancient, but not. His smile… it was alluring, enchanting, like a forbidden fruit.

"You do have a place to return to, correct? Somewhere that people are waiting for you with hot supper, warm bath, genuine smiles. Secure, safe. Right?"

They stayed quiet. Lying seemed impossible – maybe it _was_ impossible. They just stared.

The devil smiled. This time, it wasn't genuine.

"You know… in case you don't… I could always offer you one." He extended his mangled, but neat hand out to them, "Now come, so I can show you _real life_."

They were naïve. They were wounded children. They were alone.

They latched onto his hand, only to watch hell unfold.

~~~

Obito watched. This was his life. It wasn't. He felt distant, he couldn't care less. He couldn't care less.

Life was farfetched. It was too much.

 _Hello?_

The voice in his head… it sounded familiar, but it wasn't him.

 _Oi, somebody there?_

His own voice felt far away, but here. It was… strange.

He liked it.

The cigarette flickered out. Smoke still filled the room. It always will.

 _What… the fuck? Who are you, asshole? The fuck you doing in my head? I'm gonna fucking destroy you, you shithead!_

The voice of the owner of the body came. It was hard to distinguish what he said – everything was faint, barely concise enough.

Another cigarette flickered to life. Another drag. The taste on his tongue…

 _The name's Obito. As for how I got here or how to get out…_

 _I have no fucking clue._

A groan inside his head was heard. A wave of profanities. Pain. Rage.

Laughter.

 _AhahaAhaHHAHAHAHhahaAhhHhhAhahaAAH_

The boy- Katsuki – was heavily traumatized, that much was obvious considering his past.

Not as heavily as Obito, though.

 _G-guess we're – hehe – stuck, then. HAHA. You- you're not real, right?_

Confusion came over the scarred man. What…

 _You're just a plot of my imagination. Like, you know – heh – Deku. He has twenty of you. At least I deserve one, right?_

What…

 _Ahaha… This is perfect! Deku always said that they helped him out – you gonna help me, right,?_

 _Right?_

 _RIGHT?_

The boy was unstable. He was broken. His mind was mangled…

Perfect.

 _Yes… I'll protect you, Katsuki._

Another drag. Life… it's like ashes. It always comes crumbling down for the weak, while the strong rise.

Uchiha Obito was no hero. To be reborn in a world of black and white, good and bad, yin and yang, after a lifetime of demons...

For where there was a devil, he was the lord of the Underworld himself.

~~~

Kaachan was different. They all noticed the changes. He was less aggressive, slept even worse, the fidgeting left. His demeanor was even cooler and he cussed at Dabi.

Whatever the reason to the change, Kaachan didn't dare say. That, and Izuku didn't pry – their own well-being is a lot more important.

They were fourteen now. An anniversary – ten years in this shithole. It wasn't that the other two were bad – no, not really. Izuku rather enjoyed Tomura-kun's company, and Dabi was fine, though overprotective.

Kurogiri was like a mother-hen. He always took care of them, kept them out of trouble, tried his best to light up the mood. If it weren't for Kurogiri, then neither Dabi nor Tomura-kun would've ever become their friends. Then Kaachan would've been taken away…

There was also Doctor. The never revealed his name – though Izuku had overheard Sensei calling him something-basa – and kept a low front.

He was always in Izuku's nightmares. His hands stained in blood, dark hallways, the pleas for mercy. Crimson. Sharp tools. The nasty smiles.

His best friends strapped to one table, he himself to another. They never bothered with anesthesia.

The Doctor loved to make them _watch_.

The first three years brought no benefit. All the pain was meaningless. His mind barely made it through. His body…

It didn't, not wholly. His legs barely worked, his right eye blind, left ear completely deaf. He had scars – numerous, from surgeries, experiments, spars, battles, missions. He lost count on them.

They all did.

It was when he was seven, the table in front of him already full. Kaachan was there, a sliver of a smile – cracked, forced, only there to help Izuku. At least that's what it seemed like. Not that Izuku could see Kaachan's face.

Kaachan had tape over his mouth – to muffle the shouts. His torso was bare, rib peeking through the pale skin. They were all scrawny, the four of them.

The Doctor approached. He talked, but words didn't reach Deku. All he could see was crimson.

 _Don't look._

The person's voice was gentle, but fierce. The pure resolution in it sent shivers down his spine.

He dared look up, long crimson strands obscuring the view. The person… they were slightly transparent, the way that he could still watch Kaachan suffer. The muffled screams he was almost – _never fully_ – used to, the scarred skin, the dark-

 _That fucking bastard! If only I could… kid, stop looking._

Their- no, _her_ voice was laced with boiling fury, boomed in his mind, but he did _not_ hear it. In fact, her voice came not from the outside, but the _inside_.

It was as if she was part of him, an imaginary concept of his own creation.

She reminded him of Mom. The same warmth spread through his body, the wave of security.

Comfort. She couldn't block out the pain filled screams of his best friend, his abdomen torn open, but she helped calm Izuku. Her lingering, though ghostly, touches. The gentle manner of speech. The kind, accepting gaze…

She gave him something he deemed long gone. Safety. Hope. Affection.

 **Life**.

 _Kid, look at me._ She smiled, though forcibly, and it could've lit the whole galaxy. _Hey. I'm here. I'm here and I will protect you, kid._

 _Look at me. Right. Like this. Don't take those beautiful eyes off me._ A hand phased through his shoulder, the gesture calming his mind. _Here… oh, I completely forgot to introduce myself! How silly! Uzumaki Kushina at your service, kiddo._

This was how he met the first one, the one that reminded him of mother. The one that showed comfort, held him close and snarled at anything and everything.

It was just the beginning.


End file.
